Autographia Corpore
by ciaan
Summary: Kaldur and his tattoos.


They are in the showers after a sparring session. Kaldur lifts his face to the spray and closes his eyes, welcoming the warm water as it pours over him. Superboy is standing under the next spray over.

Kaldur startles when Superboy's hand settles on his shoulder and then traces down his arm along the line of his tattoo. He shudders lightly as Superboy's fingers ghost along his skin. Superboy's hands are soft, uncallused, delicate precisely because of his strength. The tattoo is very sensitive, and with the water flowing over him, it is shockingly intense. Kaldur's energies run close to the surface there, bound into the ink by magic. It is as if Superboy's fingers are reaching under his skin and down into his soul.

Superboy pulls his hand away, presumably because he has noticed the trembling of Kaldur's muscles. "Should I not? Does it hurt?"

"No, it doesn't hurt," Kaldur reassures him. He does not want his teammate to be anxious.

Superboy's fingers begin their journey down Kaldur's arm again. Kaldur watches Superboy's rapt face for a brief moment, then turns away and stares at the wall. The water pounds against him and his gills flutter, his throat closing the way to his lungs. He is lightheaded until he can open his mouth and breathe again, this water insufficient for the purpose.

"It feels good," he whispers. "Superboy..." He knows Superboy cannot possibly understand what he is doing. "You should stop."

Superboy slowly pulls his hand away again. Kaldur clenches his own hands into fists at his side and remains staring at the wall.

"They look nice," Superboy says. "I don't think my skin would do that." No, Kaldur doesn't believe it would, not that invulnerable skin. "Why is it bad to feel good?"

"It is not," Kaldur replies. It is, however, dangerous. "But you must judge and anticipate the effects of your actions. Like how hard you can hit someone without breaking them or the building."

Superboy looks at him blankly. It is not a blank look of comprehension. Kaldur shuts his shower off, wraps a towel around his waist, and walks away.

When Superboy enters the room for the mission briefing later that afternoon he has drawn on himself with marker in patterns that copy Kaldur's. M'gann makes a pleased little hum as she sees him and darker green lines swirl around her arms.

Kaldur rolls his eyes but he is left with a small smile.

His teammates do not, can not understand.

But Kaldur does not mind that.

.

Artemis thinks Kaldur's tattoos are hot.

Wally still doesn't believe that they're magic. Psshaw, now he has to rant to himself about that every time Kaldur powers up.

Robin finds them both terrifying and fascinating; they're so deliberate, so indelible, so identifiable.

M'gann also finds them fascinating. Humans, Kryptonians, Atlanteans, they all change naturally as they grow and age, more than Martians do, but they can't control the changes, and the differences are so small. When they do control it, when they do make a deliberate alteration, it's either unimportant such as clothing, or shockingly permanent in a way that nothing, nothing will ever be on her own body. Kaldur chose these drawings and now they are always part of him. And sometimes they can't choose, and that's even more frightening, like the scars on Robin's arms. She sees why they would want to grasp every bit of control and choice they have, given that.

Superboy wonders sometimes why Aqualad, who is much more human, looks much less human. Superboy can go anywhere on Earth and pass for human. Aqualad cannot, though he is of the Earth. He has so many noticeable features, both natural and chosen. Yet he is always so sure of himself. His tattoos curve around his arms like a path for Superboy to follow, telling him exactly what to do, promising to lead him to the answers.

.

His queen gave Kaldur his tattoos and his water bearers as gifts when he left the school to fight beside his king. They are designed to enhance his natural talents with electricity and water. He fasted for three days before the ceremony in a cave in the ocean depths, heat swirling up from sulfur vents and drums shaking the water.

Her hands were on his shoulders as the needle bit into his skin. Her magic burned into his nerves and veins, the ink more than just physical, melding into him on every level. The pain was great and for the duration he was expanded. He was every molecule of water surging in the cave, every impulse fleeting through the cells of the other people present.

He can never remember exactly how it felt and he can never forget it.

He uses that every day in these dry battles.

His teammates do not, can not understand.

But Kaldur does not mind that.


End file.
